


A snapshot of dreams

by Tadaheressin



Series: Opium dreams [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Consensual High Sex, Drug Use, F/F, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Riding, Sex Neutral Jon, Sex Work, everyones trans, needle mention, vague 1880s setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:55:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28618407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tadaheressin/pseuds/Tadaheressin
Summary: Jonathan Sims needs to relax for a hot second, Jonah Magnus knows of a certain club that’ll be just the thing.
Relationships: Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist/Martin Blackwood
Series: Opium dreams [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2097042
Kudos: 22





	A snapshot of dreams

Jonathan Sims was bent over his desk, scribbling away at whenever documents Jonah had dumped on him that day. Apprenticeship to a nobleman, especially one as esoteric as Jonah Magnus, was never going to be easy. But, one does not become a royal archivist without a little effort, and Jonah can’t live forever. Jon will be his successor and that’s that. Cushy palace job, royal protection, locked away from, everything.

This was what kept Jon focused and optimistic while he worked, even if his hands at this point were aching. Each motion made his joints almost pop, and when Jonah appeared behind him, placing a slender hand on his shoulder, the way he jumped certainly popped something. “Ah, Mr. Magnus. How can I uh, help you?”

Jonah gave him an appraising, cool look. His eyes always made Jon a bit uncomfortable, far too green, far too bright. But then he smiled one of his strange thin smiles and loomed over Jon. “Sims, you seem stressed, yes?”, no waiting for a response, “come with me, I’m taking you somewhere.”

Jon was definitely not dressed for the English winter but Jonah was already leaving and he didn’t expect the noble to wait. So in a thin dress shirt and slacks he hurried out and stumbled behind the older man, who was somehow already dressed in a thick, fur lined and gold trimmed coat that covered the length of his body. “Uh, Mr. Magnus? Where, exactly uh, are we going?”

“You’ll see.” He called back.

They rambled through the streets, cutting through alleys far too confidently and driving through the crowd of Londoners. Jon consistently lagged behind, Jonah just too fast for him. Finally, after taking a route Jon had no hope of remembering, they arrived at an, astonishingly non-descript building. It was 3 stories, red brick and grey-brown wood and no windows. A simple sign over the door read “The Spiders Den”. Jon wasn’t, a fan of the imagery, but he assumed it would be fine.

Jonah stepped through the doors and Jon scurried behind him. Once inside he was immediately struck by the scent of smoke, liquor and something, deeper. Headier. The smell of bodies on bodies. A low haze hung over the whole room, though the air was clear and easy to breathe. At the fair end of the room there was a type of bar with a set of stairs to its right. Tables dotted the center of the room, with patrons drinking and lounging at them, and at regular intervals the left and right walls were interrupted by indented booths with curtains for privacy. From the few occupied ones there were the sounds of movement, breathing and, other things that made Jon blush. 

A well dressed server approached Jonah and politely asked him what he’d be preferring for this evening. It seemed like they knew him well? “A private booth, for me and my friend. Bring us the menu as well, he’s new here.”

The booths themselves were very pleasant, soft velvet seating that was in a circle against the wall and a small round table in easy reach. The server left a little sheaf of paper in Jon’s hands and said they’d return in a short while to take his order. Jonah whispered something to them and they drifted off. 

Rather than food, the menu simply listed, hm. Jon couldn’t make sense of it. “Needle, drink, smoke? Jonah? What is this?” He glanced toward the older man with an incredulous look.

“Opium, Jon. And read the bottom.” Jonah had already settled back comfortably.

Jon did so, and saw a list of names under the title ‘Company’. It was, expensive. “Mr. Magnus, I uh, can’t afford this at all.” Opium didn’t shock him too much, even if he’s never had it.

“I’ll cover the expenses. Now lean back, you’re hunched.”

“Mm.” Jon leant back and sighed, waiting for the tension to relieve from his body until the server returned.

Jonah ordered a ‘smoke’ and a name he didn’t know, some Peter. “Drink for my friend. Any company, Jon?”

Jon fumbled with the menu again and stuttered, finding the name that seemed the most friendly. If they were gonna be keeping him company he’d rather it’s someone he figured was good conversation. “Uh, Martin?”

The server chuckled. “Oh, he’ll be good for you. He’s always tender with the newbies.”

Jonah stood, “Well Jon,” he said as he smoothed down his shirt, “I’ll give us both some privacy. Peter and I are very familiar and I’d rather not make you uncomfortable. Do enjoy your stay, and don’t be shy about ordering anything. Ask for the savoury menu if you’re hungry.”

Jon was left alone, nervously tapping on his knee until the curtain was opened again. Through it came a curly haired and freckled face, carrying a pitcher full of some milky blue liquid and a glass. “Jon? I believe I’ve got the right booth?” His voice was sibilant, soft like butter melting in candlelight.

“Uh, yes, that’s me.” He glanced anywhere but the newcomer, “you’re Martin I presume?”

“The one and only,” he said softly, placing the pitcher and glass on the table and sitting next to Jon, shoulder to shoulder, “have you ever done this before?”

Jon tried not to shrink into himself, but this very attractive, soft faced, angelic man was very very close to him and he was very, shy. “Uh, no. I haven’t.”

Martin smiled beautifically, “I’ll help you then, it’ll be nice,” he poured the liquid into the glass, smelt like, poppyseed, and raised the rim to Jon’s lips.

He took a drink, but Martin tilted the drink just a little too far, this trickster smile on his lips, and the opium spilled from the corners of Jon’s mouth, running down his chin and neck. When the glass was taken away he almost coughed a bit, but he immediately felt, soft. This low, gentle warmth settling over his entire body, like liquid heat running from his fingertips to his feet. He felt his mind not cloud over, but instead empty, thoughts and stresses running from his mind like water spilling from an overturned jug. His breathing slowed, shallowed, and he sank into the booth like he was liquid. Sleepily he turned to look at Martin, and something about the mans face gave him the biggest smile.

“Mm, that’s a good look on you. Can I touch you now?” Martin placed a soft hand on Jon’s inner thigh and slid it up.

“Uh, no, not there,” Jon blushed and shifted away, “but you can touch yourself and, I’ll do the same.”

“That’s how you like it? Perfect, then.” Martin got his trousers off easily enough and started a soft, heavy rhythm touching himself. 

Jon stayed dressed but mimicked well enough, keeping in perfect rhythm. He thought a few times Martin did things solely to see how Jon would react when he did it to himself, and that settled a low, licking heat in his body.

Jude Perry had one hand on Agnes’s hip and the other around her clit, guiding the smaller woman’s motions as she rode Judes cock nice and slow. She looked so pretty like this, long red hair falling over her face and chest, panting heavily and leaking slick onto Judes hand and stomach. She was a regular, and always hired Agnes, perhaps being just a bit sweet on her. Besides, Annabelle allowed it.

She stroked Agnes in time with each roll of her hips, drawing the prettiest, highest moans out of her. Her hands were braced on Judes shoulders, nails digging sharply into her, body curved into a gorgeous c as she loomed over Jude. She was a straight line of a woman, willowy yet soft and tender in the best places, if you knew where to touch. “That’s it my light,” Jude whispered as Agnes make another keening sound, “feel my cock inside you.”

Micheal was kneeling between Gerry’s legs, tongue almost as deep inside of him as his fingers as Gerry took another toke from the hookah. “Doing good down there baby?” He asked, as the smoke curled from his lips.

“Mhm.” Micheal responseded, a bit busy trying to make Gerard cum in his mouth.

He just found making people feel good so gratifying, having them pull his hair, ride his face, fuck him hard and rough while he sung like a pretty bird for them. All of it was good, and he liked seeing Gerard cum the most. He would curve and arch like something sculpted, something the church outlawed for being too holy, too close to what divinity really looked like.


End file.
